Condescending
by orangesunset12
Summary: "Maybe because I care about you," Tim snapped. "Why?" Damian spat. "Why do you care!" Tim looked at him, hard. "Why do I care? I care because you're my only little brother and I love you!"
1. Loneliness

_'I don't fear death so much as I fear its prologues: loneliness, pain, debilitation, depression, senility.' -_ **Mary Roach**

* * *

 **1\. Loneliness**

Tim padded down the stairs to the hallway, feet barely making a noise. When you've been part of the bat-family for a few years, you learned that silence and darkness were your best allies.

He shivered slightly as he passed the empty bedrooms in the corridor. He knew that Jason hadn't set foot in his room since his death, and Dick hadn't come since Bruce died. Tim himself hadn't been here in a while. His apartment had recently been involved in a 'gas leak'- in reality, being set off by a bomb. So when Alfred offered Tim his old bedroom back, what incentive did he have to say no?

Well, Bruce, for one. But Tim was tired of running away from a man who was barely home anyway.

For a brief moment, Tim wondered whether Bruce wasn't here because Tim was there, or because Damian was. Or maybe both. Bruce did have a way of dumping his children.

The night sky outside was a dark blue, seemingly deeper than the black shadows that stretched in front of Tim. The only reason he was even up at this hour was that he'd stayed up late working on a project, and had drank one too many coffee cups. Sleep didn't come to him easily- well, it hadn't come to him at all. So at 2 o'clock in the morning he'd decided to throw in the towel and head to the kitchen for some warm milk or hot chocolate, like Dick used to do when he'd come over and Tim was still awake.

Tim had stayed awake a lot back then.

He paused outside the kitchen when he heard a voice. It was snappy and short, but young, and Tim immediately knew who was inside. He frowned. Damian should've been asleep by now, although he'd never been one to follow the rules. He sidled his way into the kitchen and stood silently in the corner of the room.

"Alfred," Damian sighed, "the world is cruel to your kind."

Alfred- the cat one, not the butler- was curled up on Damian's lap. He purred as Damian stroked him down his back.

A thought struck Tim, hard. Had Damian always been this lonely?

"Making your fur into coats," the youngest Robin lamented. "They are-"

Damian's head suddenly snapped up, facing where Tim was hiding. His face turned into a sneer.

"Drake. Your stealth skills are obviously too weak for me to not spot you," he spat.

Tim sighed and stepped out of the shadows. He was too used to Damian's greetings. The novelty of hatred had long since worn off.

"Damian," he said, because calling him 'Wayne' or 'Robin' would've just made Damian even prouder. "What are you doing here?"

Damian scoffed. "I live here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Didn't Alfred tell you? I'm staying for a while. My apartment blew up."

For a second, Damian looked at his cat curiously, as if wondering whether Alfred the Cat had been the one to invite Tim over. Damian blushed suddenly as he realised his mistake.

For Tim, this side of Damian had always tasted sour. The part that was almost normal. The part where, no matter how much Damian tried to hurt Tim, he was just a child.

And Tim understood that. Tim understood that part of Damian.

Which made it all the more painful when Damian tried to cover it up.

"Of course you got your apartment blown up," Damian snarled. "That's just you. I would never have let that happen."

"Right," Tim said, rolling his eyes. "Back to the point. What are doing up so late?"

Damian looked down. "I guess I am used to going on patrol."

"Are you still benched?"

A fleeting flurry of emotions rushed across Damian's face. Perhaps he, like Tim, was remembering that night on the roof. Or maybe he just didn't like to think about having let Batman down.

"Yes," he said. "But it isn't permanent," he hastily added on.

Tim took a seat next to Damian. When he looked closer at Damian's face, he realised his eyes were rimmed red.

Not from insomnia, then. He was awake for another reason.

"...Did you have a nightmare?"

Damian stiffened, which for him, meant a 'yes'. "No. What makes you suggest such an idea?"

"Whoa, it's cool. Everyone has one sometimes. Especially people in our business," Tim soothed.

Damian shook his head. "You're deluded, Drake. I did not have a nightmare. I'm not weak."

The absolute tone of defiance in his words shocked Tim. Red Robin had always sort of known Damian had had a problem with being 'weak'- Dick, and his own experiences, had told him that much. But not until now had he realised that Damian thought being normal was equal to being weak.

And not until now had he realised how much of a problem it had been. Had nobody ever told him that it was okay, to be what he was?

"I didn't say you were," Tim intoned calmly. "I just asked you if you had a nightmare."

It seemed like Tim's calmness had started to get on Damian's nerves. It was often like this. People who didn't react, who forced themselves not to, seemed inhuman.

It was Batman that had taught him to do that.

Did he teach that to Damian too?

"I didn't! Why would you think such a thing?!"

Tim bit his lip. "It's okay if you had one. But, you know, a cat isn't the best company."

Damian sighed in frustration. Having been raised as an assassin, Damian had grown up in a place where secrets and lies were as needed as the truth. But the family that Tim had grown up in, even through all the deceit, deaths, and destruction, had always had a need for the truth.

It was insatiable. Truth, and justice. Those were the things they stood for.

"...It's none of your business," Damian said flatly. Still defiant, but he changed his tactics, and that was as much of a surrender as any.

Tim decided to change his tactics, too. He didn't want a confession out of Damian. He didn't want him to give in, to surrender like he had.

He just wanted Damian to be happy.

So he hugged him.

"...Drake," he said, slightly alarmed, "what are you doing?"

"I'm hugging you, demon brat," Tim replied, and this time he let his voice fill with emotion. Because how could living with someone who kept his emotions barred help Damian let go of his own?

"Why?"

Tim matched Damian's earlier sigh. "Maybe because I care about you," he snapped.

"Why?" Damian cried. "Why do you care about me?!"

Tim looked at him, hard. "Why do I care? I care because you're my only little brother and I love you!"

Damian fell silent, and Tim took this as his cue to continue. "I... you don't have to keep pretending to be above me, because you're not. You're not above making mistakes, having nightmares, and talking to your cat at two o'clock in the morning. And, you know what? That's okay! That's okay because nobody can be strong forever. That's okay because you don't have to prove yourself to anyone, because you don't have to be Batman. You can just be Damian Wayne, the fourth Robin, who likes to think being normal is weak and being wrong is bad. You can just be... you."

Tim took a deep breath and let Damian go. He'd said a lot of things he hadn't meant to, and a lot of things he had.

But, at least, someone had to tell Damian it was okay. Even if that someone was him.

"...What if I do it wrong?"

Tim started. "What? What do you mean?"

Damian huffed. "What if I... don't know how to be myself?"

Tim cocked his head as he considered this.

"Don't be afraid," he said finally. It was the best advice that Bruce had given him in his whole life.

Don't be afraid, he'd said. And, I'll always be with you.

"I'll always be with you."

Damian scrunched up his nose. "That sappiness is unbefitting of you," he said disdainfully.

Was that a compliment? Tim wondered. Nothing had ever been unbefitting of Tim before. It was always either 'too incompetent' or 'only Drake would do that.'

"That's just who I am," Tim said easily.

And maybe, just maybe, the little twitch of Damian's eye meant respect. Hiding respect was one of Damian's traits, but reading people was one of Tim's. It worked like that. It was nice, like they were partners, one fitting in with the other.

Alfred had long since fallen asleep, but had awoken again and started meowing for Damian's attention. Damian gave it to him, in that tender way he had with animals, and suddenly Tim was very grateful for Alfred and Bruce and whatever his other pets were called.

As long as Damian was never truly lonely, he'd be alright.

And Tim was there to make sure of that.

* * *

 **Hey guys, I'm back! This is another multi-chaptered story I hope to finish. This is set within the Confrontations universe, just because I can. :P This is a Damian-centric story, suggested by IzXaRose. So, thanks to IzXaRose for suggesting it! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review/like/acknowledge my story. Thank you!**


	2. Pain

_'You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death at the pain of it.'_ - **JK Rowling**

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 **2\. Pain**

Often, Dick stopped to stare out of his shabby apartment in Bludhaven. The scene wasn't exactly beautiful- no, it was quite the opposite. Rows upon rows of brick and mortar buildings stared solemnly at the distant horizon, across which Gotham stood in towering glory.

Sometimes, Dick didn't know where he was looking- at Bludhaven, or at Gotham.

Maybe, he was trying to discover which felt more like home. He'd recently came back to his apartment at Bludhaven, having stayed at Gotham for a while to bust a major drugs ring (and maybe keep an eye on his brothers. Maybe.). The two cities, while similar in violence, had entirely different flavors to them.

Perhaps it was just him, but somehow, Bludhaven seemed lonelier.

So sometimes he just sat at his windowsill and watched the horizon. Because, as much as things changed, that line in the sky would never go away

Today, however, he was looking at something else entirely.

He opened his window and stuck his head out. "You know, I didn't think birds came this way in the winter."

Robin was carefully perched on his roof, as if ready to jump off at a moment's notice. He spun expertly to face Dick.

"Grayson," he scowled, but Dick knew not to take it seriously.

"Are you going to stay out there the whole time?" he asked amusedly. "You're going to catch a cold."

Robin huffed, his cape fluttering in the winter's breeze. "I do not catch colds," he said contemptuously.

"Shame," Dick sighed. "You would look cute in blankets."

Damian crawled through the window with Dick's help. A warm sort of feeling crept through Dick's chest at the sight of him. The fact that he'd searched him out, taken up Dick's request, was enough to make him proud.

It didn't have to be anything, Dick thought.

It just had to be.

"You hungry? I was just about to whip up some lunch."

"I am not in need of your food, Grayson," he denied. "I shall make myself a sandwich."

Dick leaned against a wall as Damian busied himself in the kitchen. It occurred to him, mildly, that Damian was using the sandwich to distract Dick from why he had come.

Because there had to be a reason, other than just a friendly trip. Their family didn't work that way.

(And this, Dick thought to himself, was the only reason he was ever glad of how dysfunctional their lives were. It gave more than enough excuses to visit his family everyday.)

When he'd finished his little snack, they sat on the couch together. Dick knew better than to press Damian for details- if things should come out, they should come out on their own time.

"Grayson?"

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"What was your mother like?"

The question hit him like a freight train. For a brief moment, happiness flared in him at the memory of his childhood.

Whenever someone heard his story- not a tragedy, people's lives were not a tragedy- it was always 'my condolences, I'm sorry'. Apologies did nothing. Bruce knew that. Jason knew that. Tim, even when he didn't fully understand, he knew that.

It was almost a requirement, to be in the family.

But nobody ever asked him what his parents were like. And, Dick thought, he'd never prepared the answer to the question either.

But the happiness was there, as brief as it was. It felt like the trapeze.

"She was beautiful," Dick smiled. "And kind. Sometimes she had a bit of a short temper, but she'd always make up for it with ice cream or a ride on the elephants or free time on the trapeze." He paused. "She was a great person," he concluded.

Dick turned to face Damian. His face was unreadable, and Dick grew concerned. As far as his parents go, it was one of the things on the Batfamily's 'Do Not Discuss' list, along with Jason's death/resurrection, Alfred's old age, and that one time Tim accidentally killed one of Damian's pets.

Damian sighed. "...And did you love her because she was a great person, or because she was your mother?"

"I loved her because... well, because of both those things, I guess." Dick bit his lip. "Why do you ask?"

Damian took a deep breath, like he was diving into the ocean. "Is it wrong to love my mother, then? If she's not a good person?"

Dick started. "You mean Talia? Dami, what happened?"

The youngest of Dick's siblings looked down. The emotion on his face could be taken for annoyance, or sorrow. Dick's heart clenched.

"My mother does not love me, and she is not a good person, either. This means I should be able to stop loving her, but I can't."

Dick felt like he had been suckerpunched in the gut. "Of course your mother loves you," he soothed, though honestly, he had no idea.

"She doesn't!" Damian's voice rose as he grew more upset. "She doesn't love me, she only loves what I could become! I don't want to be an assassin, Dick! I don't want to be what she wants me to be, but I want her to love me!" His voice cracked as his eyes pooled with tears. "She put a bounty on my head. A bounty. I'm her son, her heir, I'm not her enemy. I'm not her enemy!"

He took a staggering breath. "Am I supposed to be angry at her?"

Dick stared, as if finally comprehending the words Damian had spoken. As far as mothers went, Dick had never imagined Talia as being good- well, at least not in the normal sense. But Dick had never realised the extent in which Damian had cared for her; and really, he should've known, because no matter how much Damian tried to hide it, he cared, he really did.

Damian's an incredible kid. He didn't deserve his mother (or his father).

"She set a bounty on you?" Dick said, voice slightly trembling.

Damian looked down. A silent yes.

"It wasn't anything you did," Dick tried to assuage. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know it was not my fault," Damian snapped. "I knew she would do something like this. She is an assassin, she's not supposed to care about... anyone."

"You're her son," Dick blurted, almost offended at Talia's detachment.

"I'm her asset," Damian said bluntly. "And I failed my function. I just didn't expect it to..."

"To hurt?"

Damian crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. "I am not hurt," he seethed. "She has not laid a hand on me."

"There are different ways to be hurt, Dami. You should know that by now."

"It shouldn't hurt this much," Damian said, his voice hollow like a desecrated grave.

"It hurts because you care. You can't help caring."

"It wasn't this hard before," Damian muttered. He glared at Dick. "Before I met you, not caring was easy. This is your fault."

Dick smiled slightly. Some part of him couldn't help being proud, even though he hated to see Damian hurting. Because learning to care, and learning that caring hurt, were all the twisted parts of growing up.

Someday, Damian would make a great Batman.

"Look," Dick said, "she may not be proud of you, but that's because she can't see everything you've done, everyone you've saved. The person you've grown into. What she sees as a weakness, I see as a strength. To me, Dami, you'll always be strong. I'm proud of you. And I always will be, whatever you do."

Damian cocked his head. "Even if I become something like a pop star?"

Dick grinned. "Only if I can see your shows."

Damian's face flushed at the thought of his older brother screaming like a fangirl. "You're an idiot," he groaned.

"That's why you love me," Dick teased.

Damian shook his head fiercely- which, in Damian speak, meant a resounding 'yes'.

Because Damian didn't have to be anything, not an assassin, not even Robin.

He just had to be there, Dick thought.

He just had to be.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry this took so long, things were really busy here. Anyway, happy Chinese New Year everybody! The Year Of The Monkey is off to a fresh start, and I wish all of you good luck and good health in the upcoming year. As always, like, follow, or review! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Debilitation

_'The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.'-_ **Arthur Golden**

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3\. Debilitation

Jason was sitting on his grave.

The sky was blue, like an ocean in a child's picture book. The birds, whatever they were, were chirping pretty little songs across the scarce treetops. And the grass was as good as you could get in this portion of Gotham.

He saw all of this, but never felt it.

It was hard to feel anything but death here.

A spark of anger popped inside of him when he considered the cost of all of this. Surely there was something better to spend their money on, like starving children, or drugged mothers, or absent fathers. Why did anyone willingly pay for a funeral?

Was this all people wanted? To celebrate death?

A cold, intense feeling took over. He could imagine grief-stricken children, fathers, wives, dressed in black with umbrellas- because of course it had to rain- and maybe they were crying, maybe they had been reluctant to go, but if you could stand there patiently without clawing at the earth for your loved one; wasn't that what love was supposed to be like?

If Bruce, if he'd maybe opened the coffin earlier, then maybe things wouldn't have turned out like it had.

Had it rained, at Jason's funeral? Had he cried?

(He imagined Bruce, standing in a fancy suit, looking down at his dead 'son'. And the whole image was black and white and blurry, because Jason didn't have the heart to believe that Bruce even showed up.)

"I knew you'd be here," a voice said from behind him. "You're predictable."

Jason didn't turn around. He didn't have to, because of all the lands in Gotham, this one was his. It had his name on it. It had been his home.

This was his turf, and he wasn't playing on someone's else's terms.

"Right," he said sarcastically. "Don't think I didn't know your precious Grayson was going to send someone, Demon Brat."

He heard the distinct soft footsteps that were Damian's. They had a strangely pompous air to them, like a little princeling walking in golden shoes.

"You didn't show up yesterday. Grayson was looking for you," he accused.

Jason blew his hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I just didn't feel like showing up."

"It was your birthday."

A bitterness spread in Jason's chest. Dick had taken the liberty of knowing his address to send him a loud, annoying, personal invite.

He had to be invited to his own party. It was always like this.

"I have two anyway," he said scornfully. "You can celebrate during the next one."

"That isn't your real birthday," Damian argued.

Jason barked out a fake laugh. "I've been born twice. I deserve two birthdays."

Damian, seemingly ignoring all of Jason's subtle go-away hints, sat down next to him.

God, that kid was smaller than the Replacement. Was Bruce trying to get smaller children each time?

"Why?" Damian asked. "Why did you come here?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Why do you think? This, this is what I'm celebrating. My death."

"It hurts you, being here. I can see it."

"Everywhere hurts me."

A tensing of Damian's shoulders was all Jason got in response. Not for the first time he marveled at how much Damian was like him, and how they were completely the opposite at the same time. He'd grown up killing, then changed by Batman's hand. And Jason... well, his was the reverse.

"You stood up Grayson," Damian said. "He'd worked hard for you."

"Well I never asked him to, alright? I didn't ask him to make me a party, to celebrate anything!"

"Does it make a difference whether you asked him to or not?" Damian said hotly. "He did it for you, and you should be there! Everyone was there!"

"Everyone?" Jason's voice turned cold.

Damian shuffled a bit closer. "Everyone who could make it," he receded. Then, after a pause, "why do you do that?"

"What?"

"You push him away. You push Father away, and yet you still ask for him. Why?"

"I don't-"

"Yes, you do."

Damian stared at him. The spark of anger inside him caught fire in his belly, like an all-consuming hate for everything. The only thing he could see was red and brown. The red of blood and the brown of a locked coffin, nailed in so that you couldn't even remember the sky.

"I deserve it, okay?! I deserve to toy with him like he did with me! I deserve to be everything he hated, I deserve to be the one that makes him cross the line!"

Damian shook his head furiously. "Is that why you want Father to kill the Joker? Just so you can be _important_?"

"I don't want him to kill the Joker anymore! I want him to kill me!"

Silence descended on the graveyard. Jason shook with anger, because he'd never opened up like that before, never said the real truth.

He'd wanted to see Bruce kill the Joker, sure, but he knew that just couldn't happen. Because Batman, as sick as it was, was doing this little deal with the devil. Keeping the devil alive just so his reputation could be intact.

He took the easy way out. The coward's way.

Jason could never do that. He didn't care what being a murderer made him, because he knew his place. He wasn't a hero. But he was doing the right thing.

Maybe Jason had always wanted the best for Bruce. Maybe that was why he tried so hard to get him to cross the line. If he really, truly was against Jason's code and character, then he'd kill him.

Permanently. With no second funeral.

But he never killed Jason, never fought him. And that didn't mean mercy- that meant indifference. Jason wasn't even as important as any other criminal in Gotham.

Sometimes Jason wished he'd just get stabbed in the chest already. But not being killed by Bruce's hand would accomplish nothing.

And he just wanted his death to mean something.

"You want him to kill you?" Damian asked incredulously. "That's your definition of caring?"

"I just want to matter, okay? I want to matter enough to him to make him cross his stupid line!"

"He can't!" Now Damian was shouting. "Don't you understand? He can't cross that line. It would destroy him."

Jason scowled. "Maybe that's what I want. Maybe I want him destroyed."

"No, you don't. You just want him to understand you."

Jason's throat clogged. If Bruce... if he understood Jason, then maybe he'd accept him. Maybe everything he'd done, all the blood, all the crimes, would be forgiven. And who knows? Maybe, one day, Bruce would realise Jason was right all along.

Maybe he'd be proud of him.

(No, Jason thought. If the Joker couldn't make him cross the line, then Jason sure as hell can't.)

"How would you know?" Jason said bitterly.

"You're not the only murderer here," Damian responded flatly. "You're not the only one who knows the freedom of taking a life. The freedom and the suffocation."

Jason swallowed hard. "Don't pretend to understand me," he said shakily. "You don't. You know how to give death, but you don't know how to get it. I've died, before. I deserve to spread death."

"So that's it? You're killing because you're selfish?"

"I don't owe this world a thing!"

"None of us do!" Damian took a breath. "All of us have been through tragedy, or war, or just the cruel life in general. And none of us owe anything to this world. But we don't have to! It isn't a game of who deserves it and who doesn't, it's a game of 'what would I do if I had the power to make things right'? You have the power. What do you do?!"

Jason closed his eyes. "I fight."

"Then fight. But do it the right way. There isn't any fight when your opponent is dead, Todd. Don't make me think your intellect is below Drake's."

There was a hollow laugh that spit out of his mouth. He did have the power to make the world a better place. But maybe- and this had just occurred to him, not a thought that plagued him forever- he was the one who'd taken the easy way out. That the struggle of saving a life was worth more than the struggle of taking one.

"This grave isn't yours anymore," Damian said quietly. "I could destroy it for you."

"No," Jason said. "This grave is still mine. It's the only thing I own."

"No, it's not. You have a life now. I think it's time you use it."

A warm feeling spread across Jason's chest. No fire this time, only a warm faint glow.

Like victory, only warmer.

"So... about this birthday party of mine," Jason inquired. "Dickiebird saved me some cake, didn't he?

"He saved you everything. He's still waiting for you."

Jason grinned, and he gave a real laugh this time. "Then let's not keep him waiting."

They stood up, the silence almost a mediator. He'd never realised before how much his brothers had actually done for him. Maybe it really didn't take a father to have a family after all.

"Wait," Jason called. He quickly went back to his grave, took out his gun, and shot his gravestone three or four times.

"...I thought we just discussed not being violent," Damian remarked.

Jason shook his head and smiled. For the first time since forever, he felt the weight of death fall off his shoulders.

"I was just making a statement."

"What statement?"

Jason blew his hair out of his face. "That Jason Todd isn't dead. He's alive, and he's going to his birthday party with his brother whether the world likes it or not."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Todd, you're insane."

"I'm alive," Jason shot back.

He took one last look at the graveyard, and the smoking stone, where his name had stood for so many years. In the charred remains, the stone was now unreadable. In a few years time it would debilitate into nothing. No remains. He turned around to face the horizon.

"I'm alive."

* * *

 **Sorry for the long update time! I haven't got any time to write. Well, at least we got here! A little bit of a switch, as Damian's doing the comforting in this chapter. Thanks for the reviews and likes and follows!**


	4. Depression

_'"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."_

 _"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "it's a tear."_

 _"What's it for?"_

 _"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."_

 _"You are a genius," said the angel._

 _Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there."'_ \- **Erma Bombeck**

* * *

 **4\. Depression**

Bruce looked out the window, where Damian was traipsing across the lawn. The window was frosted over at the hands of the approaching winter, with snow being promised to come, but promises by Gotham's weather service were worth next to nothing. Still, the lawn held the small crystalline dew drops that had frozen over. It was these dew drops that Damian seemed so intent in wreaking havoc on.

"Bad day at school, Master Damian?" Greeted Alfred at the door.

Damian said nothing. Silence, Bruce decided, was better than a glare- however, when dealing with Alfred, Damian knew to keep his manners in check. There was no saying how well Damian was dealing with- well, with what, exactly?

"Damian," Bruce started.

Now came the glare. Damian's eyes, so much like Bruce's, held so much anger, so little light.

It scared him. Did Bruce look that way?

"Damian," Bruce repeated, firmer this time.

"Yes, Father?" Damian's voice held little emotion.

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. Since he'd come back, he hadn't missed how things had changed. Hadn't missed the anger that used to be present in his (son) newest Robin, having been cleansed away. Hadn't missed how everyone seemed more... together.

Without him.

"What's wrong?"

Damian gave him a cynical look. Bruce prided himself on reading people, knowing whether they were lying, whether they were insane. But he'd never been able to read the people closest to him, the ones that truly mattered.

(How many times has his sons lied to him? How many times has he lied to them?)

"Father, I am perfectly fine. You may check my body if you wish," he replied.

Bruce sighed again. Damian made him do that quite often.

"Right," he said. Paused. "Damian, pain goes deeper than the skin."

"I know."

"Well, then, if you have an issue..."

What? What could Bruce do? He hadn't been the one to be with Damian when he was hurt, when he'd been chased by his mother, hadn't put him in the Robin suit, (hadn't kept him out of it). There was a blank space where the beginning of a relationship was supposed to be, and there was no building when there was no foundation.

They were strangers. Blood strangers, related strangers, but still strangers.

"I do not have an issue. I do not require your assistance," he snarled.

Bruce pursed his lips. He could see a question forming in Damian's eyes, a query he was afraid was going to be answered.

"Very well then," Bruce said, more roughly than he'd intended. "I guess I'll just leave-"

"Wait!"

The desperation stopped Bruce cold.

"Father, I..." Damian hesitated. "I just... did you ever... want me?"

Bruce choked, like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut. "Where... where is this coming from, Damian?"

The sudden burst of emotion receded, like a sad tide. "Nowhere, it's nothing."

Bruce hastily grabbed Damian by the shoulders. "Of course I did, Damian, of course I do. I've never thought otherwise."

"Really?" The sarcasm was evident, and Bruce pained to think what had caused it.

"Of course. I care about you just as much as I care about the others."

"And how much is that?"

"Damian, that's not-"

"Important?" Damian's hands curled into fists, trembling uncertainly. "It was Todd's birthday last week. Was he important enough for you to come?"

"Red Hood is a different subject," Bruce defended. "I didn't have enough time-"

"I'm not talking about Red Hood, I'm talking about Jason! I thought you cared about him!"

"It's not the same! He... he kills criminals. We can't condone that."

"He's not the only one who has killed people, Father." Damian bit his lip. "We... we're the same. I have just as much blood on my hands as he does! If you can't love him, then you can't love me!"

"Damian, stop!" Bruce put a hand over his face. "Please... I do care about him. It's just... difficult."

"Grayson says loving people is supposed to be easy," Damian said quietly.

Bruce leaned against the wooden shelf. Photographs were scattered here and there, different times in what felt like different lives. A photo of him and his parents. Of Dick and Bruce, down at the fair. Of Jason, scowling and hiding his face. Of Tim and Stephanie in the living room.

Of Damian, just standing in the center of the frame. He didn't remember the story behind that one- and then it occurred to him that, most likely, he wasn't the one to put it up.

"It's supposed to be," Bruce admitted, "but it hardly ever is."

The boy brushed his hair out of his eyes. His blue eyes, the same shade as Bruce's.

A mirror.

"Father," Damian said. He choked and stopped. "I don't want to be another one of your mistakes."

Bruce's jaw tightened. "You were never my mistake," he said firmly. "None of you... none of them were."

"Then why do you act like they are?"

"What-"

"Everytime Dick tries to talk to you you drive him away. Everytime Tim comes around you ignore him, everytime Stephanie comes you can't look her in the eye. And when Barbara comes here you treat her like she's just an asset, like all she is good for is hacking and coding. And Jason..." Damian took an angry breath. "You act like he's still dead. Like he never came back to life."

Bruce blinked, breath running away from him. A brief anger flared, then turned to sadness, then died into exhaustion.

"I didn't know," Bruce attempted to explain. "I didn't mean it."

"But we knew. Father, nobody knows you don't mean it. You never tell anyone anything, how are we supposed to know if you care about us? If you even do..."

Silence.

"Damian?"

"Yes, Father, I'm sorry-"

"No. Don't be." Batman ran his hand through his hair. "Damian, I do care about you. I love you. Don't you ever doubt that."

He closed his eyes. "But I... I'm nowhere as good as Dick or Jason or even-"

"I love them too," Bruce interrupted. "I do..."

"Then tell them that." Damian sat up straighter, taking his 'power pose'. "I have already lost one family, I refuse to let this one fall apart."

Bruce sighed. "But everything is so... how am I supposed to fix it?"

"You're Batman," Damian scoffed. "You can fix everything."

"Master Wayne? Master Damian?" Alfred called from the hall. "It is time for dinner!"

Damian stood up, hesitatingly. For a moment he stared at his father, as if waiting for him to stand as well. When he didn't, Damian shrugged, and then left.

Bruce was sat, frozen, Damian's words bouncing around his head.

Huh, Bruce thought. Maybe he could.

Fix everything...

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry for the very looooooong pause, basically a hiatus really. But I'm back! I know, I should've updated this story before, but I was working on my other story 'Circumstance'. I would very much appreciate it if you headed over there to check it out! Anyway, as usual, like, review, or follow! Or do none of those things- I can't really control you or anything. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Senility

_'But when the morning comes,_  
 _And the sun begins to rise,_  
 _I will lose you._

 _Because it's just a dream,_  
 _When I open up my eyes,_  
 _I will lose you!' -_ **Winnie-The-Pooh**

* * *

 **5\. Senility**

Dick had never felt so old.  
Maybe, sometime between the leotard and the yellow cape and the blue bird and the black cowl, the years had fallen down the drain. Towards the sea.  
They slipped away, and disappeared, and left him all alone.  
The tie around his neck itched like a noose. Above, the sun shone like fire, shining on bright green grasses and poppies blooming. The white clouds drifted upon the slow breeze whispering, spreading rumours to the four corners of the sky.  
What a beautiful day...  
His hands were clasped in front of his white shirt, unstained and ironed clean, fingernails digging into his palms. Not drawing blood.  
Not yet.  
"...Would anyone like to say a few words?"  
Tim tugged at Dick's sleeve. Dick knew what he meant- a few words? how could anyone describe anything in a few words?  
How he used to be-  
How you loved him-  
How he loved you-  
How he left-  
And how you hurt-  
...There were no words left. There was nothing to say.  
"...If that is all," the priest broke in, shattering the silence. A priest? Why?  
Since when have they believed in heaven?  
"If that is all," the priest repeated, "then we can move on."  
...No.  
No, we can't.

* * *

He was sitting in a chair, after most of the people had gone. Bruce had spared no expense, as he was expected to. He hated this. Everything was so fancy, so fake.  
Yet, somehow, the silence made it real.  
Tim rubbed his eyes, which were red and puffy. Not from crying- not all sadness was crying- but from exhaustion, and anger. Dick took Tim's hands and held them in his own.  
"I d-don't want to be here ever again," Tim choked unhappily. "I don't even- I don't-" He struggled to breathe.  
"Damian's gone," he said simply. "He's gone."  
"I know."  
Tim shuddered, as if the sun became snow. "What... What are we going to do?"  
Dick smiled at him painfully. "What we can, Timmy," he said gently. "What we can."  
"And if that isn't enough?"  
"Then..."  
"Then we do what we must," a deeper voice interrupted.  
Tim looked up, and happiness flickered briefly on his face. "Jason," he said shyly. "You came."  
"I did," Jason agreed. He scraped a chair noisily across the floor and plopped down onto it.  
Dick could see he was shaking.  
"You didn't have to come," Dick said softly.  
Jason gave him a look. "Yes. I did."  
Unconsciously, they all turned to Damian's gravestone- then they turned to the one beside it, no longer readable, a smote pile of ashen grey.  
The bullet shells still hid in the grass.  
"At least," Jason mused, but his voice was high, "at least he gets a better patch of grass. My patch is as ugly as Bruce's cooking."  
Tim put his head on the table, as if listening to the ground. "Does it hurt to die alone?" he asked tentatively.  
Jason snorted. "It hurts to die."  
A bird, curiously digging around for crumbs, landed on the table. It seemed strangely unafraid of them. Its yellow beak stood out against its black head, its breast an orange-red.  
A robin.  
Finding nothing on the silver table, the robin flew away.

* * *

"Does it hurt less the second time?"  
Dick started. They were sitting in the grass, directly in front of the gravestone. It seemed a nice place to sit. In a way  
Jason sighed. "Does it hurt less, the second time?" He impatiently repeated.  
Dick shrugged his shoulders. "It hurts the same," he admitted. "Every time."  
Clenching a fistful of grass, Jason snarled. "I warned him. I warned Bruce- how many children does he need to kill before- before-"  
He choked on his own words and fell silent. Beside him, Tim leaned his head on Jason's shoulder.  
There was a long, stretched silence.  
"It's time to go."  
They looked up to see Bruce, standing in his tuxedo. His blue eyes were clear and cold.  
"Do... do we have to?" Tim asked quietly.  
Bruce squatted behind them. "Yes, chum. I'm afraid we do."  
Jason scowled angrily. "I told you... I told you! I told you and you didn't listen and now he's gone and who knows if he'll come back? If you even want him to-"  
"Jason!" Dick intervened sternly. "It wasn't Bruce's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault..."  
Jason snorted. "It's always someone's fault."  
Bruce didn't speak. He stood up, brushing off his black coat. He stood for a while longer staring at the gravestone and his sons and the gravestone with his son.  
"Come on," Tim said slowly. He stood up shakily.  
Jason's lip disappeared under his teeth. "I'm staying here," he growled. "Where I belong."  
"Jay-"  
"Don't." He looked up at Dick with tired eyes. "Just... I just want to be alone for a while."  
And so they left him there, still sitting in the grass, hands around his knees.  
And they knew he was waiting for the sound of scratching beneath the earth, hard fingernails on a wooden coffin, searching for a way out.  
Waiting to help Damian, because nobody helped him.

* * *

The bed was cold in the twilight hours. Dick sat with his head in his hands, because he was too tired of the world to face it right then.  
Outside the window the breeze still blew.  
A knock came from the door. "Dick?" called a timid voice.  
"Come in, Tim," Dick responded.  
Tim came in, fidgeting with the hem of his pajama top. Dick moved over to clear a space for him on the bed.  
"Bruce isn't talking to anyone," he informed Dick. "He didn't eat his dinner, didn't change out of his fune- his formal clothes. Alfred is worried, and- and I am too. Will he become... angry again?"  
Dick offered a small smile. "You snapped him out of that before," he soothed, "I'm sure you can do it again."  
"But... but things are different now. Bruce is different." Tim sighed. "And the world got so cruel..."  
"Hey, don't be like that. We're supposed to be the happy ones."  
"No, you're supposed to be the happy one. I'm not supposed to be anything..."  
Dick ran his hand through Tim's hair, black, like all of theirs were. One of the only things they all had in common, besides Batman, and Robin.  
(And maybe that feeling of helplessness when another one of them dies.)  
"Well, be the happy one with me now, okay?" Dick forced a grin. "Help me. Help all of us."  
Tim looked out the window. "It feels bad, now- but things will be okay, won't they?"  
"Do you think so?"  
Tim paused for a brief moment. "Yeah. Yeah I do."  
Outside the window, the trees swayed in the wind. A robin hopped from a high perch to a lower branch, searching for its nest. Searching for its family.  
Titus howled in the hall below them.  
"It isn't over," Tim continued. "Life goes on."  
"Yeah," Dick said, smiling slightly. "Life goes on."

* * *

 **Okay! Finally, we've reached the end of this journey. Since this was Damian-centric, somehow I had to end it without Damian (yeah, I know, makes sense). Anyway, it's a bit shorter than usual, but I hoped you enjoyed this! Please like or review. Thanks to everyone who made this journey worthwhile, and for everyone who enjoyed this at all. See you in a new story!**


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